Watermark
by Maribou
Summary: Soapy, steamy, and sweet. NickGreg slash, people.


**Title**: Watermark

**Author**: Maribou

**Rating**: Mature (Nick/Greg slash)

**Spoilers**: "Play with Fire" in Season Three

**Disclaimer**: Just a little harmless, profitless fun with some borrowed characters.

**A/N**: This is a response to the 'Scars' challenge over at the 'ngchallenge' board at LiveJournal. I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks, Maribou.

Nick grinned as he squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hands and began scrubbing his head. He knew what was coming. Greg reached up and rubbed his palms over the stubble-like hair, then down to Nick's neck, gently digging his fingers into the tight muscles there. Nick dropped his arms to his sides and hummed with pleasure.

"God, that feels good."

"Yes, it does." Greg agreed, and leaned in for a kiss. Nick pulled back and laughed. What a picture Greg made, looking like a wet puppy, thoroughly perplexed and eager, his hair plastered against his forehead and dripping water into his eyes.

"Tease," Greg pouted.

"Aw," Nick relented and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "You and your wet eyelashes are just too cute."

This was their ritual, fifteen minutes together in the shower each day, Greg getting ready for bed and Nick washing off the sweat from his late morning workout. Nick closed his eyes and let the warm water sluice over his scalp and face while he focused on Greg, Greg's hands massaging his sore shoulders, Greg's lips kissing his clean, wet skin. Steam and the smell of peppermint soap engulfed them. He wanted to ask Greg how his shift had been, but their shower was a work-free zone. Instead he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close for a soapy bear hug. Greg gave a little growl of delight and looked up at Nick, again brushing his palms over Nick's buzzed hair and down across the stubble on his face.

"When are you going to grow your hair out?" he asked the familiar question. Nick just shook his head.

"I thought you liked me scruffy," he teased, and rubbed his rough face against Greg's.

"Ow!" came the cry of mock distress. Greg slid his palms further down until he was caressing Nick's smooth chest.

"What about here? You could get fuzzy here," he smiled, running his fingers over Nick's nipples, feeling them peak into his touch. Nick let out a small gasp as Greg slowly trailed his fingers lower, teasing his stomach, tracing the path of dark hair that led him to Nick's navel and beckoned him further downwards. Nick pressed his hips forward, silently asking for more, but Greg detoured, instead running a fingertip over the white line that marked his lower abdomen.

"The empty grave of your appendix," Greg intoned, his eyes dark and intent as he knelt and licked the scar. Arousal shot through Nick along with a sudden feeling of shock and embarrassment. "You're blushing," Greg noted. He ran the flat of his tongue over the scar again and watched as Nick grew hard right in front of his face. "All over, it seems."

"I guess scars can be sexy," Nick breathed, fighting the urge to grind against Greg, who was now standing and pressed against him from knee to shoulder. Instead he ran his tongue over Greg's lower lip and kissed him until the roar of the blood rushing through his ears drowned out the sounds of Greg's moans, the slick squeak of wet skin on skin, and the water racing over them.

Greg turned and leaned back against him so that Nick's cock rested in the cleft of his ass. Nick snaked his arm around Greg's waist and pulled him tighter, reaching with the other arm until he was gripping Greg and stroking the length of him. Greg tipped his head back and mumbled something, some incoherent language of pleasure. Nick nipped at his shoulder. Greg mumbled again, a question.

"What baby? What do you want?" He loved it when Greg talked dirty.

"Are mine sexy?" Greg didn't ask so much as plead, his voice breaking in tones of desperation, the way it did when he begged Nick to fuck him, please, God.

At first he didn't understand the question, almost asked Greg to repeat it. And then it hit him, and he felt his heart contract. His hands grew still then slipped back to rest on the smooth, pale skin of Greg's hips. He drew his hands up, fingers trailing over the terrain of Greg's back until he reached the parts that were angry red in some places, faded to a shiny pink in others. The skin there read like a riverbed, raised and rippled, and the water ran over the scars as though it could smooth them over time, eroding the body's memory of fire, erasing his pain.

Nick followed the scars upwards with an investigator's eye to where they spread out across Greg's shoulders and lapped up the back of his neck. The accident was there, marked on him, and as he looked Nick remembered it all: the sound of the explosion, the sirens, the shouts, the smell of burnt everything…his fear. And afterwards, waiting, the hospital, the tubes of ointment on the bathroom counter, the rolls of gauze. _Are mine sexy?_

He gently caressed the whole of Greg's back, careful not to miss an inch. Greg stood still as though suspended. His erection, like Nick's, was suddenly gone. Greg was barely breathing, and Nick realized that he was waiting for his answer.

"No," he admitted, his voice soft. Greg's shoulders slumped, and the scars glared at Nick as Greg turned abruptly and reached for the shower door. Nick grabbed him and pulled him back, pressing his face to the pebbled skin. Survivor's skin. He kissed the scars, and heard Greg choke on a sob.

"No," he said again. "They're beautiful."

(fin)


End file.
